


Quite a Few Weekends at Bobby's

by Elthadriel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Human Crowley, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-01-11 15:32:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1174753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elthadriel/pseuds/Elthadriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bobby is charged with dealing with Crowley as the demon starts to become human.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Doesn't really fit all that well into canon. I suppose it's a version of season 9 where Bobby and his house survived season 7. 
> 
> SaunterVaguely was definitely a catalyst for the idea of this story so huge thanks to her. <3
> 
> Also, as chapters are fairly short I'm hoping to update every couple of days; I'll get a friend to kick me if I don't keep to that.

“So what you mean to tell me is that you idjits have the King of Hell in your trunk, slowly losing his demonic power and gaining a conscience, and you want me to babysit him through this process?”

Sam and Dean at least had the courtesy to look ashamed.

“We can't have him travel with us Bobby,” Sam insisted, “But we can’t just leave either; he knows things that could be crucial in defeating Hell.”

“Come on Bobby, help us out here.” Dean tried.

“Also,” Sam looked rather uncomfortable, “He’s sort of a mess. I feel bad for the guy.”

Bobby continued to glare at them but let out a long suffering sigh, “You two owe me for this.”

“Thank you Bobby,” Sam said and followed Dean out to the car to collect the demon.

Bobby wasn’t sure what he had been expecting but this really wasn’t it. The boys half carried, half dragged a struggling Crowley into the house while Bobby watched silently. There was a bag over Crowley’s head and his hands were bound with metal cuffs covered in Enochian symbols matching the ones on the collar around his throat. 

Dean looked to Bobby for confirmation before reaching down and pulling the hood off Crowley.

Crowley glared at them with self-righteous anger but Bobby could sense an air of panic if he looked hard enough. The easy calm and arrogance Crowley had possessed before was, while not entirely gone, certainly shaken.

“Robert,” Crowley said, sounding a little out of breath. His eyes darted around the room, carefully locating all three hunters and also the entrances. “Pleasure to see you again. Are you planning to kiss me all better?”

Bobby grunted in response, turning to Sam but keeping Crowley in sight.

“I thought you said he was a mess? He looks fine to me.” Bobby lied, watching as Crowley stiffened as he spoke.

Sam shrugged.

“We aren’t sure what he’s still capable of or who quickly his powers are deteriorating but his mental state is unbalanced at best. He jumps between weepy and guilt ridden to angry and scheming. Keep a close eye out for the switches.” Dean said with an air of finality, trying to end the conversation. He clearly wanted away from Crowley as soon as possible.

Still watching Crowley out of the corner of his eyes Bobby witnessed the demon’s jaw tighten before schooled his expression to seeming apathy.

“You know Squirrel, it’s rude to talk about people like they’re not there. Didn’t you mother teach you that?” Crowley asked innocently.

Dean made to say something back but Bobby shot him a look that said something like “Don’t rise to the bait or he’ll keep doing it”. It was enough to make Dean sullenly keep quiet.

“We’ll check in when we can,” Sam said, 

Bobby didn’t follow them to the door but allowed them to let themselves out. Instead he sat down his chair, indicating the one opposite to Crowley who eyed him wearily as he sank into it.

“Drink?” Bobby asked, nodding at the whiskey sitting on the coffee table between them

He took it as an indicator of how bad it really was that despite wrinkling his nose at the cheap whiskey Crowley lent across and poured himself, and then Bobby, a glass.

\---

Dean was right; the switches could be easy to miss. 

He had elected to keep a close eye on Crowley for the first few days, barely letting the demon out of direct line of sight, despite the Devil’s Traps at all the exits and the cuffs and collar making him not much of a threat. He even locked the demon in the guestroom at night. By the time he had realised what a bad idea that was, after about an hour, he had already committed and wasn’t willing to give Crowley the satisfaction of letting up at all.

In that regard that Crowley had been quiet for more than five minutes should have been a give away. 

When Dean had said weepy a humorous image of Crowley sobbing cartoon style had been what had sprung to mind. The idea was so alien and seemingly impossible. While situation his imagination had supplied was worth a few, slightly guilty chuckles, as usual real life was significantly less entertaining.

He was alerted that something was wrong by a muffled bang. He spun around, fearing the worst, to see that Crowley had stumbled back against the cupboards and slid to the ground.

He was deathly pale and while there were dried tear tracks on his face he was no longer crying, looking more panicked than sad. His breath came in quick, shallow gasps that couldn’t be providing him with the oxygen he needed.

The sight caused something slightly more than pity to stir in Bobby’s gut.

“Hey,” Bobby dropped to his knees in front of Crowley who was clearly hyperventilating.

“Crowley,” Bobby tried to grab the demon by the shoulders but he flinched violently from the touch and kicked out, almost knocking Bobby over.

“Crowley,” He repeated, “I need you to take a deep breath through your mouth for me. Can you do that?”

Crowley clawed frantically at his throat, eyes unseeing.

“Crowley,” Bobby tired again, “I want you to listen to me, it’s going to be okay. Take a deep breath and don’t let it go until I say so. In,” He mentally counted three seconds, noting that Crowley seemed to be listening, “and out.”

Crowley finally caught his breath and his sharp, shallow gasps of air slowed to a more reasonable speed. The panic started to leave Crowley’s eyes, though it didn’t disappear completely, as he was finally supplying his body with the oxygen it needed. 

Bobby straightened up but returned a few moments later with a glass of water that he handed to Crowley who drank it gratefully.

“All right?” 

Crowley gave a single curt nod of his head, not making eye contact. His grip on the glass was tight enough to turn his knuckles white

Bobby sighed and moved away from him, frowning, not at Crowley’s apparent lack of gratitude but at how real it all suddenly felt. Subconsciously he had still believed it was an act and that Crowley had been playing them all. That panic attack hadn’t been faked and Bobby was in no way ready to deal with what that meant.

“Sleep it off,” He advised Crowley, leaving him sitting on the floor of the kitchen, offering the man some privacy to pull himself, and his mask, back together.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we have chapter 2. Hope you guys like it. Thanks for the great response :D.
> 
> The next chapter should be up tomorrow, (I wrote it before this one because I'm incapable of writing stuff in order) I just need to have a read through it and sort out some of the little stuff.

Crowley was quiet the next morning, and seemed to try to avoid Bobby as much as possible, which was difficult when Bobby was even more determined to keep an eye on him.

It was frankly unnerving Bobby how spineless Crowley had abruptly become. He didn’t hold eye contact for more than a few seconds, if he had to at all, and only answered when directly spoken to. He might be human now, or at least getting on that way, but Crowley still seemed to be very broken.

Unsure how to act, as Crowley responded poorly to any obvious form of sympathy Bobby simply tried to make sure Crowley wasn’t left alone to brood. 

The tiptoeing around each other ended abruptly when Crowley seemingly snapped back to normal between Bobby taking the bin out and returning.

He didn’t quite make it as far back to normality as he might have hoped however and he was slightly less obnoxious than before, and the uncertainty he had possessed since he had arrived as more apparent. It was clear, as far as Bobby was concerned, that Crowley was definitely becoming more human.

“You need to shower,” He told Crowley a little later, in a lull in Crowley’s oh-so-witty commentary on Bobby’s life, “And a change of clothes.”

It was true that Crowley was currently on the very edge of how unkempt it was socially acceptable to be, but Bobby also suspected it might make him feel better. When Crowley’s feelings had started having any weight on his decision he didn’t know.

“Oh lovely, I suppose hoping that you have clothes that aren’t denim or plaid would be wishful thinking?” Crowley said and frowned at Bobby across the table. Bobby realised he hadn’t actually considered what Crowley would change into. He supposed it would have to be something of his; at least until he could buy something new. That would involve either trusting Crowley enough to leave him alone, or taking him into town. Neither idea seemed that appealing. The suit Crowley was wearing was battered enough from his run in with Sam and Dean that it wasn’t worth the cost of the dry cleaning.

“We can’t all dress like the dammed one percent, Princess.” Bobby responded, more out of habit than any actually hostility. “The bathroom’s the first on the left upstairs.”

Crowley hesitated.

“Well?” Bobby demanded after a moment.

“I don’t know how,” Crowley admitted weakly, staring at a point on the wall behind Bobby’s head.

“You don’t know how to shower?” Bobby knew he sounded disbelieving, so Crowley’s hostility was perhaps justified. 

“I know how to clean myself, I’m not an idiot,” Crowley snapped, “I don’t know how to work a shower. In case you’d forgotten the last time I was without the ability to will myself clean it was 1703.”

The thought hadn’t even occurred to Bobby.

“Here,” He stood up, “I’ll show you.”

He led the way to the bathroom.

\---

The shower was straight forward enough, only having two dials, one for water pressure and one for heat. They were well labelled and Bobby was sure Crowley would have been able to work it out. Then again, he had no idea how much experience Crowley had had with anything modern of this type. He knew Crowley had a good grasp on how to work a phone but had never actually seen him use anything else. Maybe without the context of living everyday life Crowley wouldn’t have known.

Crowley listened carefully but the set of his jaw gave away how humiliated he felt to have to have this explained to him. In response Bobby tried to keep it as far from patronising as possible.

“Shampoo and conditioner?” Crowley phrased it as a question in and of itself but after catching Bobby’s frown he continued. “Which should I use, and in what order?”

Bobby followed his gaze to the bottles sitting in the holder.

“The black bottle will be fine for your hair; the white one is body wash, use it like soap.”

“Thank you,” Crowley said, not a hint of sarcasm anyway. Bobby resisted the urge to gap. 

“You’re welcome.” He said, leaving Crowley too it as he went to rummage through his drawers for some clothes to leave outside the bathroom door for Crowley.

\---

Crowley reappeared from the shower wearing what had been deemed Bobby’s least offensive clothing; a newish black t-shirt, and one of the few pairs of jeans Bobby owned without some kind of stain of rip. Not that Bobby was planning on saying it allowed but Crowley looked strange in such informal clothing and there was something fundamentally wrong seeing him wearing socks but no shoes.

He at least looked better, although his more respectable appearance served to highlight how tired he looked.

“What would you like for dinner?” Bobby asked.

“I would never dream of troubling you,” Crowley said, in just a way that Bobby couldn’t be sure if he was being sarcastic or not, “Besides, it’s not worth the effort.”

“As long as it’s not too fancy I can probably cook something up.” Bobby insisted, “What do you like?”

“Demons don’t taste food the way humans do,” He explained, “and I can’t remember what I liked from when I was human.”

Bobby stared at him for a moment; he had never thought to ask. Sam and Dean were right; Crowley was an untapped wealth of knowledge on demons. Obviously the inner workings of their taste buds were unlike to be the key to their downfall but there was a lot more Crowley could undoubtedly tell them.

“Have you liked what you’ve eaten here so far?” Bobby couldn’t help but ask; mentally going through the terribly basic food he had offered Crowley

Crowley gave a non-committal shrug that Bobby read as him being very unimpressed.

“Have you ever had carbonara?" Bobby asked, thinking it was likely the best thing he knew how to make off hand. Karen had taught him how to make it. He hadn't made it in years but he thought he remembered how.

“I might have eaten it since I’ve been a demon but certainly not while human. We generally didn’t get Italian food in northern Scotland.”

Bobby rolled his eyes and started rummaging around for the ingredients.

Crowley hovered in the kitchen while Bobby cooked, making the occasional comment but remaining mostly quiet. He watched Bobby carefully, but his gaze didn’t make Bobby feel as uncomfortable as he felt it should. 

Bobby placed the pasta dish in front of Crowley, watching him carefully to gage his reaction. Crowley looked ready to say something biting in response to that but uncharacteristically chose to remain quite. He at least seemed more enthusiastic about the food than anything else Bobby had given him.

“I’ll teach you to cook tomorrow,” Bobby informed him as he tucked into his own meal.

Crowley didn’t say anything, neither positive or negative. He didn’t even sneer at the very concept of him cooking. 

Bobby considered that a victory.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The moral of this story is don't try to proof read fanfiction in a class of only six people; you will get caught.

As far as Bobby knew Crowley didn’t really have jumps between being able to keep his soul in check and not anymore. He still had good and bad days; good being where he was less obviously unhappy, willing to sass Bobby, though the insults had lost much of their bite, and bad being when he crept around, tale between his legs, near flinching at loud noises. He still looked constantly exhausted, clearly having trouble sleeping, but Bobby could understand nightmares in Crowley’s situation, so he mostly ignored that; there was nothing he could do anyway.

His steadily fading powers had become a problem however.

Even with the Enochian engraved cuffs Crowley should still have had access to some of his abilities including his fast healing. Crowley hadn’t asked for the cuffs to be removed but Bobby was tempted after Crowley cut his finger while cooking. He had sworn colourfully, and stared at the cut in a mixture of horror and surprise. He had been thrown enough by the pain to allow Bobby to put a plaster on it without complaining. Bobby had left them on just to be safe.

He finally removed them when he first noticed Crowley shivering.

Crowley had seemed to orbit around the warmest places in the house, taking books through to the kitchen or living room, but only when the fire was on, instead of sitting in the slightly chilly study. Crowley had never complained however, and he did tend to complain about most things, so Bobby had let it rest.

He almost ignored it the first time he say Crowley’s hands trembling before realising that it had actually been getting warmer over the last few days. If Crowley was cold that it wasn’t the actual temperature but something to do with him.

He watched Crowley for the rest of the day before sitting him down and removing the cuffs, not meeting Crowley’s wide gaze.

“Are you feelings all right?” He asked, using the opportunity to touch Crowley’s hands. They were ice cold.

Crowley shrugged, pulling away from Bobby’s hands as soon as the cuffs were off.

“Loosing your powers hasn’t had any unfortunate side effects?” Bobby tried again.

“I miss them, but I’m managing.” 

Bobby might have allowed it if not for the fact he could see the minute shivers 

“Your teeth are almost chattering.” Bobby said, abandoning subtlety altogether.

“Demons are quite a bit warmer than humans,” Crowley said at last. “The change as been a little uncomfortable.”

“Crowley, you’re freezing.” Bobby said in a tone warning him to cut the crap.

“It’s fine.” Crowley said, eyes darting towards the door, seemingly looking for an out.

Bobby sighed and stood up as he heard the kettle boil behind him. 

“But you are cold?” Bobby poured a cup of boiling water and placed a tea bag into it before returning to the table.

“Yes.” Crowley said through gritted teeth.

“Has this been a problem for a while?” Bobby asked, handing the tea to Crowley who wrapped his hands around it gratefully. 

“From almost the moment Moose did the damn spell,” Crowley admitted. “It’s been getting worse as my powers fade but it’s been mostly manageable.” 

“Mostly?” Bobby asked.

“I get very cold at night.”

“Why didn’t you say something?” Bobby had thought they had been getting on better, almost friendly. He was thrown that Crowley would feel uncomfortable speaking up about something like that.

“Because then you would have done something about it,” Crowley sighed, “and I think we can all agree I deserve far worse than being a little cold.”

Bobby was shocked into silence. It was the first time he had heard Crowley openly admit he felt guilty for what he had done, even if the way he acted had heavily implied it.

“I’ll get you more blankets, and a hot water bottle if I can find one,” Bobby said at last, in a voice that left little room for argument.

Crowley said nothing but stared unhappily the floor.

\---

Bobby stopped locking Crowley in his room at night, and only lost one night of sleep were paranoia kept jerking him awake at the slightest sound. He caught Crowley sitting in front of the fire in the middle of the night, head bowed over a book more than once but avoided commenting. He always put the fire out before returning to bed so Bobby didn’t really see the problem.

Sometimes Bobby wasn’t sure if it was just the cold that drove him there; sometimes he noticed a haunted look in his gaze that hinted at unmentioned nightmares and centuries of guilt. On one occasion Bobby sat down next to him placed a consoling hand on his shoulder. If that ended with Crowley sobbing against Bobby’s chest neither of them spoke about it the next morning.

Bobby new from experience that when you had memories you’d rather not face night could be a difficult time.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There might be a slight decrease in the speed of updates and I have an essay to work on. I'll see how it goes.
> 
> <3

Bobby first noticed there was a kitchen knife missing just short of two weeks after Crowley had first started shivering; something that had yet to fade and was currently being managed with blisteringly hot showers and a ridicules amount of layers. Nothing however seemed enough to make it go away entirely. They had therefore forced to hope it was something that would get batter with time.

Bobby had tried to give Crowley the benefit of the doubt at first and had searched the kitchen twice over before going to Crowley. He brought it up in the living room; which seemed like neutral territory 

“Have you seen any of the kitchen knives lying around?” Bobby tried to keep any accusation from his voice. If Crowley was planning on murdering him in the night, which seemed highly unlikely, he didn’t want to spur him into action.

Crowley went tense almost immediately. He had once had a poker face like Bobby had never seen but he was still getting used to how human bodies had the tendency to act before their owner had even had a chance to think of a response. Bobby wasn’t sure if he was hoping Crowley remained this easy to read or if he returned to something more closely resembling how he had been before.

“Not that I recall,” Crowley said carefully.

“Do you mind taking a look for it in the kitchen when you get a moment?” Bobby asked, unsure why he was giving Crowley a chance to return it without any confrontation. 

“Of course.” Crowley returned his gaze to his book but Bobby could tell he wasn’t reading.

The knife was back only an hour later.

\---

Three days later Bobby realised a different knife had gone missing.

“Do you have the knife?” Bobby asked, holding out his hand even before Crowley responded.

Crowley nodded resentfully.

“Why are you taking them?” He asked when he realised Crowley wasn’t going to say anything. “If you were planning on killing me and escaping you’ve had your chances.”

“I’ll stop,” Crowley said in way of an answer, in a voice implying that he was far from happy about it. He pulled out the knife and hands it to Bobby hilt first.

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I don’t like feeling helpless,” Crowley admitted after a pause. “Up until a month ago I could defend myself from almost any attacker and easily get away from anything I couldn’t. Now I’m not even sure I could take on most humans. Having a knife made me feel a little safer.” 

Crowley stood and left the room before Bobby could comment.

\---

Bobby seriously hoped he wouldn’t regret it but the next time he was in the town he bought a penknife with a four inch silver blade for Crowley. He left it on the man’s pillow to avoid a scene of any kind but Crowley was noticeably warmer to him and even a little happier from then onwards.

Bobby could see the outline of the knife in Crowley’s pocket and he had a habit of putting his hand in his pocket just enough for his fingers to brush the side of it.

“Thank you.” Crowley said, almost a day later and completely out of context but Bobby could guess why he was referring to.

“You’re welcome,” Bobby said, without looking up.

\---

Crowley generally moved into the back of the house whenever the doorbell rang. Since Sam and Dean had left him here he hadn’t seen anyone aside from Bobby and he seemed very unwilling to do so. Knowing that unless pushed Crowley would likely make any attempt to interact with humanity.

“Crowley, can you get that.” Bobby called from under the sink. There was a slight chance he had decided the day he was having a package delivered was the perfect time to try and fix the dripping pipe on purpose. Crowley didn’t need to know that however.

Crowley appeared in the kitchen, and Bobby could just make out his feet but could feel him projecting anxiety even without seeing the rest of him.

“There are demons after me, it’s not a stretch for them to work out that I was taken by the Winchesters and therefore that I might be here.” Crowley said, a note of panic clear in his voice. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“If they are here to kill you then you stick them with that knife of yours and then you pick up that gun and blast the holy hell out of them.” Bobby said. He had full confidence that even if a demon had processed the postman Crowley was completely capable of handling it. He was also certain that Crowley’s unwillingness to answer the door had less to do with the possibility of demons and more to do with actually having to deal with people on equal footing.

Crowley hesitated for a moment longer before his feet disappeared from the Bobby’s line of sight and towards the front door.

Bobby stopped working and stained his ears to hear but while he could make out two distinct voices their words were little more than a soft murmur. At the very least, it didn’t sound like anyone was trying to kill anyone.

The door closed and Crowley’s feet reappeared. There was a muffled thud as the package was dropped to the table but nothing else.

“Crowley?” Bobby asked, worried by his silence. Crowley’s feet vanished from sight. Bobby pulled himself hurriedly from under the sink and followed him into the bathroom, arriving in time to see him drop to his knees in front of the toilet.

Crowley vomited, gripping the side of the toilet his one hand, the other limp at his side. Bobby dropped to the ground next to him, rubbing soothing circles on his back. Crowley dropped back, leaning against the wall. He was horribly pale and Bobby wasn’t convinced that the shivers that had become normal for Crowley were currently entirely due to being cold.

“Please don’t ask me to do that again,” Crowley said softly, sounding more tired and less panicked than Bobby expected, given his response to the event.

“I won’t,” Bobby assured him, helping him to his feet, feeling more than a little guilty at pushing the matter.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finished this off at about four in the morning last night during some sickness induced insomnia. It looks okay to me but please shout if there's anything glaringly wrong.
> 
> Once the whole thing is up I will go through it and try and sort out the more obvious mistakes. One day I'll find a beta I promise.

“Who were you before all this?” Bobby asked one evening, when they both sat on the sofa, different books in their laps. Close enough that their shoulders were almost touching but not quite.

“I was a Scotsman born in 1661, you know this.”

“That doesn’t tell me much.” Bobby argued.

“I was a tailor, then I was a soldier, and then I was a tailor again.” Bobby didn’t know if Crowley was being curt because he was angry at the situation or because he didn’t want to talk about it. He choose to keep pushing; Crowley had a tendency to fall back on sarcasm when he wished to avoid a topic and Bobby would back off if that happened.

“You were a solider?” Bobby asked, surprised.

“I had the fortune of being a highlander during the early Jacobite uprisings. Our Clan was called to fight and we didn’t have much choice in the matter.”

“What happened?” Bobby had to admit his Scottish history was rather lacking.

“We left, we were encouraged to kill and steal and rape our way through any force that stood against us. We were turned into monsters. Then, eventually, we lost and they sent us home, told us to go back to our children and our wives. Somewhere along the line they forgot to teach us to how to stop being monsters.”

“It’s hard to imagine you as a highland warrior.” Bobby said with forced humour; Crowley’s bitterness was clear.

“I was rather good at it actually; what with my aforementioned athletic calves.”

“How could I have forgotten?” Bobby said with the same awkward lightness as before. “What happened?”

“I didn’t readjust well after returning home. I treated my wife like burden and my son like dirt. Gavin was a cruel boy mind. Hated me even then; bitter from years back because I beat him after catching him throwing rocks at a bitch and her pups. He was lucky, if I hadn’t stopped him the dog soon would have.”

Bobby didn’t comment on his opinion on hitting children; his own childhood still raw even after all these years. He wondered what he would have done if he’d caught Sam or Dean being so cruel to an animal and decided not to dwell on it. He wouldn’t have hit them but he would have made them regret the day they were born. It was hard however to pass judgement on the actions of man from the 17th century. 

“It didn’t take my wife long to find a man willing to treat her better. She was subtle about it though, decent enough to try and protect my name, whether I deserved it or not. I didn’t see it that way at the time though. I was furious. I made my deal, three extra inches below the belt, and made a mockery of her. Slept with anyone who’d have me; made sure everyone knew that I had no time for her, humiliated her.

“I left her eventually. Went to London and made a moderate amount of money lying and cheating. I got better towards the end although whether that was a true reformation or because I death was becoming an ever closer reality we’ll never know. I became a tailor again, took some boys off the street and taught them the trade and made a sizable business out of the whole thing.

“Then, some hellhounds turned up and I was carted off to hell.

“And that,” he finished, a bitter curve to his lips, “was the sad and unimpressive life of Fergus McLeod”

Bobby remained silent for a moment, trying to picture this version of Crowley. It was hard to imagine him as anything other than the too clever demon who had helped take down Lucifer before stealing his kingdom. Imagining him as human, as a husband and father was hard.

“You see Robert,” Crowley said, shifting away from Bobby, “that’s why I’m a waste of your time. I see it in your eyes, you think you can fix me, help me be more than the _thing_ that’s killed more people than you will ever talk to, Linda Tran and Sarah Blake to name a couple. But I was scum long before hell got hold of me.”

“I think you regret what you did when you were human,” Bobby said slowly. “And if you can work to make up for what you did as a demon I don’t see why what you did while you were human.”

“Because my soul was still undamaged when I did those things! I chose to, hurt those people. You should hate me for it, everyone should. The Winchester should have just killed me and been down with it.” Crowley shoved himself to his feet, anger and desperation colouring his voice.

“I’m not going to hate you for what you did, not as long as you regret it and strive to be better.” He said, far more gently than Crowley could stand.

Crowley looked ready to say something, but his head slumped in defeat. He dropped back into the seat; his right side pressed against Bobby’s left.

Bobby rubbed his knuckles against Crowley’s thigh.

“If you try, if you help us, you can make up for what you’ve done.” Bobby assured him.

Crowley didn’t say anything but leaned closer against Bobby’s shoulder.

\---

Bobby was trying very hard to avoid raising his voice to a very irate hunter on the other end of the phone. The hunter was describing a situation he had never heard of and he seemed annoyed that Bobby didn’t magically have the type of creature and how to kill it at hand.

“For the last time, I don’t know! I’ll read up on it as soon as I get off the phone and call you when I find something.”

“By then someone else could be dead. You must have some idea what it is.” replied the voice down the phone

“Then I’ll read quickly,” Bobby snapped. He didn’t need to be reminded what was at stake

“It’s a Cadejo,” Crowley said, appearing suddenly in doorway, hand gripping the knife in his pocket tightly.

Bobby looked up. “Are you sure?”

Crowley nodded, “I encountered one a couple of decades back, tried to breed them with some of my hounds. It’s most likely a half breed. I advise an iron sword and standard salt rounds should slow it down. Tell your hunter not to turn their back to it or try and encage it in conversation of any kind; it’ll drive a human mad.”

“Tina, you hear that? It’s a Cadejo. You need to-”

Crowley slipped from the room.

\---

“Thanks for that, Tina should be able to kill it before it hurts anyone else; you saved someone’s life.” Bobby said, finding Crowley in the study, searching through the books for something that interested him.

“You were right. I’m not really sure that I can make up for what I did but I should at least try. I want to help you with anything I can.” Crowley’s hand was still in his pocket but he looked more determined.

“You’re willing to tell me about hell?” Bobby asked. He had carefully avoided asking up until now, concerned Crowley would either panic at the reminder or feel that information was the only reason Bobby had been treating him decently. 

“I’ll tell you everything I know.” There was something akin to steel in Crowley’s gaze.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm back, finally. Life got really stressful and I got unnecessarily angry at this chapter not conforming to the length I planned. I've now split it into two so yay, nine chapters instead of eight. This chapter also has bonus Sam and Dean.
> 
> I'm packing up to head home just now so I won't get the next chapter up for a little while. But like a week, little while, not the three months this one took me.
> 
> Also, I have a couple to finish up from the the last time but once those are done I'll open prompts again on my tumblr if anyone is interested. My tumblr is elthadriel.tumblr.com because using more than one name on the internet would confuse me.

It might have been better if Dean had called him more than an hour before they arrived to inform Bobby that he had Sam were dropping by. Bobby considered tearing him a new one for acting so inconsiderately but he suspected they’d done it exactly so they could get the drop on Crowley. While it was rude, Bobby couldn’t honestly say he wouldn’t have considered doing the same. 

It also would have been better if Crowley hadn’t been behaving so strangely all week. He was always perfectly polite to Bobby, even his sass was now entirely good natured, but he had been oddly defensive since talking about hell. And, now that Bobby knew what signs to look for, he could also tell that Crowley was being slightly more self-punishing too. The outward signs were fairly subtle, wearing less layers, avoiding conversation, and sitting with a book but not actually reading; but they all meant he was mentally tearing himself apart. 

Bobby had yet to find a way to address Crowley when he was like this and with the boys on their way this wasn’t really the time.

“Sam and Dean are going to be stopping by in an hour or so.” Bobby said, tackling the problem head on.

“To check on my progress I would imagine?” Crowley said, tone intangible.

“It would seem so.” Bobby said, wanting to say something to comfort Crowley but feeling like that would somehow betray Sam and Dean. He wasn’t enough of an idiot to think this would go well. He didn’t patronise Crowley by telling him to behave, just like he hadn’t told Dean on the phone earlier. He knew they would both resent it and would ignore his advice anyway. He did have to bite back reminding Crowley that he was more breakable than before.

Bobby hoped that Sam was feeling sympathetic today and that between them they could stop Dean or Crowley doing something stupid. 

It was going to be a long day.

\---

Crowley had had his own clothes for a while now but he tended to pile on extra layers from Bobby’s clothing anyway. Now though, he had put on the only pair of slacks Bobby had bought him and a black shirt. It wasn’t nearly as fine as what he had once worn but it was a definite statement; one Bobby chose not to touch with a ten foot pole. If Crowley wanted keep up a pretence of normality rather than be warm that was his business.

Then again, a small voice in Bobby’s head reminded him; he was going up again people who still undoubtedly saw him as the enemy. Bobby wouldn’t have wanted to look weak either.

Bobby tired very hard to keep up some semblance of regularity while waiting but it was a wasted effort. His attempts at conversation were awkward and in the end let it fall silence. It made the sound of the doorbell even more ominous.

Bobby left Crowley to answer the door. Both Sam and Dean looked more grim than normal.

“Hey Bobby,” Sam said from behind Dean. “How’s… Everything?”

“Everything’s just fine. He’s been eating his greens and even does his homework before going to play with his friends.” 

Sam and Dean exchanged a look and Bobby rolled his eyes, indicating back into the house.

The two brothers followed Bobby through to the living room in a tense silence. Crowley hadn’t stood but he was clearly waiting for them. Bobby noticed an empty

“Moose. Squirrel.” While the nicknames were familiar the casualness with which they were used seemed forced and any hope Bobby had that this would go well faded.

Sam and Dean looked Crowley over and while Sam looked about ready to address him, Dean turned to Bobby instead.

“So he’s claiming he’s reformed?”

“He gave me everything he thinks will be useful on hell,” Bobby said with a shrug.

“And you’re sure he’s not playing us?” Sam asked, glancing apolitically at Crowley.

“From what I’ve seen your spell took. I trust him.” Bobby glanced over at Crowley in time to see the ex-demons eyes widen in surprise at the conviction in Bobby’s voice.

“He was the King of Hell, I don’t think lying is beyond him,” Dean insisted.

“You know Dean, a little faith on your part wouldn’t kill a man.” Crowley said, ignoring Bobby’s glare. 

“Do you honestly think we’re buying this crap?” Dean demanded, turning on him.

“It doesn’t really don’t matter if you’re buying it, Bobby does.”

“Look, even if you are a changed man, or whatever story you are selling, it doesn’t undo what you’ve already done. You still have all that blood on your hands.” Dean snarled.

“It’s not like you were any better.” Crowley said quietly.

“Excuse me,” Dean had gone white but his shock was changing swiftly to anger.

“That’s enough,” Bobby interrupted but was ignored.

“I saw you with Alastair,” Crowley said, “I’ve seen exactly what gets your rocks off given the correct push.” 

“What exactly are you suggesting?” Dean demanded, grabbing Crowley by the front of his shirt.

“Dean!” It was Sam who interrupted this time but Dean didn’t release Crowley whose lip curled up cruelly.

“The reality is you can hate me as much as you like but you know that you would have ended up just the same if you hadn’t been destined to make friendship bracelets with Michael. What with my spanking new soul I don’t think it’s a stretch to say there’s more demon in you than me.”

Dean hit him. 

Crowley staggered back a few steps but Dean moved with him, keeping a tight grip on Crowley’s shirt to allow him to give another punch to Crowley’s face.

Crowley didn’t raise even raise his hands to protect himself.

Dean got another hit in, this time releasing Crowley so he stumbled backwards, still meeting Dean’s gaze with oddly calm determination which only egged Dean into surging forward again, first raised. Then Bobby and Sam reached him. 

Sam grabbed Dean up his upper arms and dragged him backwards while Bobby pushed his way between Dean and Crowley.

“Crowley, go wait in the bathroom. I’ll be there shortly.” Bobby didn’t look away from Dean who stopped struggling, his anger turning quickly to shame.

Crowley hesitated for only a moment before slipping out of the room.

“What was hell was that?” Bobby demanded, turning on Dean.

“Does he really think we’re buying this? Are you really buying this?” Dean challenged.

“You were the ones that said you had cured him, not me.” Bobby reminded him, tone warning.

“That was before he started acting like that. I think we were wrong and he’s playing us all.”

“He was acting like a fool I’ll grant you but you should have known better to rise to the bait,” Bobby talked over Dean’s attempts to interrupt, “You asked me to keep on eye on him and that does not include letting you coming here and beating him to a pulp. He’s human now and doing his damned hardest to be a better person and you can’t doubt that without doubting my judgement.”

Dean gritted his teeth but resisted the urge to make the situation worse.

“You’re right,” Sam said at last. “We should have taken your word for it. Throwing accusations around wasn’t helpful to anyone.”

He looked pointedly at Dean.

“I’m sorry I let him wind me up.” Dean said finally. Bobby noticed he didn’t apologise for hitting Crowley but accepted it all the same. He wasn’t expecting miracles. 

There was a moment of awkward silence before Sam broke it again.

“Keep us up to date on his progress and pass on anything else useful that he tells you.” He said, leading Dean out of the door back towards the car.

“Try not to get yourselves killed,” Bobby said in way of goodbye as the men clambered into impala, debating too quietly for Bobby to hear.

Bobby sighed as he watched the car drive away. Now he just had to find out what on God’s green earth had gotten into Crowley.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a couple of days late and therefore I'm on holiday right now. I had to hunt down a cafe with internet to post this from but here you are! I hope you guys like. I'm not sure how much writing I'll get done while I'm away so I'm not sure when the next chapter will be up. I'll post something on my tumblr once I have a better idea.
> 
> Enjoy.

Crowley’s eye was already beginning to swell by the time Bobby arrived in the bathroom with an icepack. He made a strange sight. Crowley had abandoned his shirt at some point while Bobby was dealing with the Winchesters and replaced it with one of the warmer ones he had been gifted from Bobby’s wardrobe. It was too big on him and while that was rarely overly notable when combined with the dried blood from his nose and, split lip and dark eye it made him look even smaller than normal and uncharacteristically vulnerable.

“Not that I’m saying what he did was all right but I’m not sure how you didn’t see that coming.” Bobby grunted, handing the icepack to Crowley.

Crowley gave a strange little smile and shook his head, wincing slightly as Bobby dabbed at his lip with a warm cloth. He dutifully applied the icepack to his face and continued to watch Bobby out of his good eye.

Bobby could only consider themselves lucky that Dean had been driven by rage enough that he had acted instinctively and not with enough control to do any serious damage. Crowley’s face would be messed up for a while and would hurt like nobody’s business but it wasn’t life threatening. Dean hadn’t even broken his nose.

Crowley was quiet until Bobby turned around to get Crowley some painkillers. He had whipped away the blood but there wasn’t much more he could do for Crowley’s injuries; the man would just have to resign himself to being in pain for a while.

“You’re wasting your time,” Crowley said to Bobby’s back.

“That’s not the first time you’ve said that,” Bobby reminded him. “It didn’t get rid of me the first time either.”

“I don’t deserve your help.” Crowley muttered. “I deserve this” He indicated his battered face.

“Is that why you wound him up?” Bobby growled. “You stupid son of a bitch.”

He turned back around and met Crowley’s eye. There was a hint of shame there, like he was afraid of Bobby’s disappointment, but he held Bobby’s gaze with steady resolve. 

Bobby huffed out a breath, popped open the painkillers container and shook two of them out onto Crowley’s open palm. Crowley downed them dry before Bobby could offer him any water and tucked the container into his pocket.

Crowley made no further indication that he wanted to speak so Bobby let it drop. He suspected Crowley would bring it up again when he felt comfortable talking about it.

“Come on,” Bobby lead Crowley through to the living room with a hand at the ex-demon’s lower back.

They sat closer than normal, shoulders, hips and legs pressed together as they sat with books but neither read. Crowley stared unseeingly down at the words either not noticing or ignoring Bobby watching him out of the corner of his eye with a worried expression.

As Bobby thought it didn’t take long for Crowley to give up any pretence of reading. He wondered when Crowley had become so familiar he could predict his actions.

“Hell is punishment for the things you did when you were human.” Crowley said slowly, looking down at his hands. “Though it was never clear if it absolved people of their guilt or just made them stop caring. It certainly made it easier.

“I thought helping you with hunts and telling you what I know about the inner workings of hell would ease the guilt but it didn’t, It’s still as overwhelming as before. I thought maybe hell had the right idea after all, and Dean made it so easy. Maybe some familiar punishment would help.” 

“Did it?” Bobby couldn’t help but ask.

“No,” Crowley admitted, “Not really.”

Bobby didn’t need to look at Crowley to know he was crying.

Crowley cried silently but the way he hung his head and his slumped shoulders gave him away. 

Bobby didn’t draw attention to it, knowing Crowley would never thank him for that. Instead he pressed his shoulder a little closer to Crowley’s offering the comfort he could through physical contact.

“I miss it.” Crowley said after a while when the tears had stopped and dried on his checks. He rested his head on Bobby’s shoulder, tucking himself against Bobby’s side “I wish I could go back to how it was. I know what I did was evil and I deserve to suffer but sometimes I wish I could just go back to not caring. It was easier than this.”

“Doing the right thing is rarely easy.” Bobby cautiously wrapped an arm around Crowley’s shoulder.

Crowley grunted in agreement.

“Ever time I think I’ve gained ground a few days later and I’m back were I started.”

Bobby’s mind flashed briefly to the time after he had been forced to kill Karen. The months after had been very like Crowley had described; each day he felt closer to coming to terms with what had happened had been followed by a day where the guilt had been enough to cripple him and even getting out of bed in the morning was a miracle. 

“You’ll get through it.” Bobby announced, “You just need more time.”

“You’re certain of that.”

“Yes.”

Crowley said nothing but Bobby swore some of the tension left his frame.

\---

“Looking back, was there anything good about hell?” Bobby asked after a while, rubbing his thumb back and fourth across Crowley’s shoulder. Crowley had told him the technically aspects of hell but he couldn’t help but be curious of what it was like on a more personal level.

“I was influential, respected. Which was nice at the time but retrospectively not all that great. It was hell, there was torture and manipulation, and planning the end of the world, I don’t know what you expect me to say.” Crowley snapped.

“Yeah…” Bobby said apologetically; it had been a bad time to raise the subject Bobby realised.

They lapsed back into silence. 

“My dogs,” Crowley said suddenly almost half an hour later; he sounded almost surprised, “They were something good about hell. I miss my dogs.”

Bobby chuckled but said nothing.

When he asked Crowley if he wanted a cup of tea some time later he realised the man had fallen asleep, still tucked into his side.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I finally updated again. I've been working fulltime which as it turns out sucks all emotional and physical energy out of you and makes writing even harder than normal. So that's great.
> 
> As this fic is coming to an end I was thinking of doing a couple of one shots based on notes I took for this fic way back at the start that just didn't end up fitting into the fic. Would anyone be interested in reading those if I wrote them or does anyone have any suggestions for anything else in this verse they'd like to see?
> 
> I'll try and get the final chapter done as soon as I can but I want to thank everyone who gave this fic kudos and left comments cause you guys are the best.
> 
> I hope you enjoy.

Things settled very quickly back to normal following Sam and Dean’s visit following only a couple of days of awkwardness were Bobby and Crowley tired to redefine their boundaries. They moved carefully around each other, trying to avoid any unnecessary contact until suddenly, for no obvious reason, they stopped and things returned to how they had been before Sam and Dean’s visit.

Bobby wasn’t even surprised to find he was immensely grateful when things returned to normal.

\---

It was a little over a week later when Bobby voiced the thought he had been mulling over since Sam and Dean’s visit.

“I was thinking of getting a dog.”

Crowley looked up at Bobby, eyes narrowing slightly as he looked the man over.

“I used to have one to help protect the house,” Bobby continued, trying to make sense of Crowley’s expression.

“Not that I’m opposed to the idea, but why are you asking me?” Crowley asked.

“I thought it could be our dog, if you wanted.” Bobby explained, feeling himself redden slightly, much to his confusion.

“And what made you think that?” Crowley asked, a hint of a smile giving away is enjoyment watching Bobby squirm.

“You were talking about how you missed your hellhounds and I have been meaning to get a new dog since my last one died. Besides, I spend too much time babysitting the entire hunter community to take care of a dog on my own; though we could split the responsibility.”

“That sounds like a deal to me.” Crowley said with a clever smile.

“I guess it is,” Bobby agreed warily. It was a strange smile to see on Crowley’s face after all this time and he might have been unnerved but it had lost its cruel edge. Besides, he trusted Crowley.

“You should be careful Robert,” Crowley all but purred, sounding more like his old self than he had since he had turned up at Bobby’s door months before. “You know how I seal deals.”

Bobby looked at Crowley for a second staring at his lips as in that following second everything that had passed between him and Crowley suddenly made sense.

“Maybe that was what I was going for?” He said before he could talk himself out of it.

Crowley eyed Bobby for a moment before smiling fondly and slipping away.

\---

“Robert.” Crowley reappeared later while Bobby made then both dinner. Bobby hadn’t realised how anxious he had been since Crowley had left until that moment when he finally felt like he could breathe again.

“Crowley.” He replied, trying to cover up just how invested he was in the conversation he knew was about to come.

“I’ve considered the terms of our agreement.” He said, looking far too pleased with himself for a man in someone else’s clothes and a still healing black eye.

“You have?” Bobby asked, abandoning his cooking to look at Crowley.

“Yes.” Crowley lent against the doorframe with a calm confidence and Bobby could see that some of the tension that had lingered about his posture from the moment he had arrived had disappeared.

“What did you decided?” Bobby asked, refusing to be drawn into one of Crowley’s games. He was sure Crowley would have talked in circles for a good while if allowed.

“I find your terms agreeable and you should most definitely kiss me.” 

Bobby turned the heat off behind him, without looking away from Crowley before crossing the room to meet Crowley at the doorway.

He didn’t crowd into Crowley’s space and hesitated once he reached him, hands centimetres from Crowley, silently seeking confirmation before he did anything.

Crowley rolled his eyes and took control. He looped a hand around the back of Bobby’s neck and with a gentle but firm pressure pulled him down enough so Crowley could merely tilt his head to press their lips together.

It was different from the last time they had kissed.

The first time Crowley had kissed him it had been possessive and almost mocking in the ease in which he had got Bobby worked up enough to slip his tongue into the demons mouth. Crowley’s kiss then had left Bobby with no doubt that you could steal a man’s soul through his mouth. 

This kiss was more chaste, a firm press of lips with none of the cruelty from before. Bobby placed his hands on Crowley’s waist thinking absently how absurdly intimate the simple contact felt.

Bobby might almost describe the experience as sweet.

Reluctantly, after only a moment, Bobby pulled away to be greeted by a withering glare.

“Robert, I know you are terribly out of practise but that was not the right time to stop.”

“Just hear me out for a moment?” Bobby asked. His hands were still on Crowley’s waist and while he knew he should remove them he found himself unwilling to.

Crowley raised his eyebrows questioningly.

“I just need to be sure you aren’t doing this for any other reason than you want to. I’m not going to kick you out or anything if you say no. If you say then we can go back to how it was.” Bobby said, “I don’t want you to think this is something you have to do.”

Crowley’s expression softened.

“You underestimate yourself Bobby. You wouldn’t need to twist anyone’s arm to convince them to kiss you, mine least of all.” 

“Oh.” Bobby said, “That’s good.”

Crowley made to move into kiss Bobby again.

Bobby stopped him again.

“Something else?” Crowley asked and Bobby couldn’t tell if the impatience in his voice was real or put on.

“Just, do you still get cold at night?”

“Yes.” Crowley replied.

“Well,” Bobby was not blushing, he refused to blush. “My bed is a fair bit warmer than the spare one.”

Surprisingly, Crowley hesitated.

“I’m not sure that that’s the best idea right now.” He said slowly.

“I didn’t mean to-” Bobby corrected hurriedly, “I just meant to sleep. I’m not… I’m not looking to rush into this.”

Crowley’s weariness slipped to be replaced by another smug smile.

“Why, Mr Singer. Do the hunters know how much of a gentleman you are? Surely this would ruin your reputation as dashing but gruff and distant hermit?” 

Bobby whacked Crowley lightly with the back of his hand fighting to keep from smiling. From the mirth in Crowley’s eyes he was sure he was failing.

“It was just an offer.” Bobby grumbled.

Crowley kissed him again, this time going up on his tip toes to bring their mouths together instead of dragging Bobby down to him.

“It wasn’t in our original contract,” he murmured into Bobby’s mouth, “but I’m sure we can work something out.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long; returning to university was a pain and then I get distracted by other fandoms. Does anyone remember how I posted the first 3-4 chapters in like two weeks. No? Me neither. 
> 
> Thank you so much for the kudos and comments. I had a lot of fun writing it and you guys made it so rewarding.
> 
> Anyway, here's the final chapter, I hope you like it.
> 
> xx

While Crowley was significantly warmer than he had been when he first arrived, his core body temperature was still notably lower than the average person. It was therefore, normally Cleo vacating her spot at the foot of their bed, abandoning her unofficial job of keeping Bobby’s feet warm, which woke Bobby, not Crowley slipping out of the room.

Bobby had lain down a series of ground rules when they had brought the already over sized puppy home, including demanding that the dog not sleep on the bed, but between them Crowley and Cleo had managed to undermine every rule that didn’t suit them. He had at some point realised fighting was only putting off the inevitable and it was easier for everyone if he just let it happen. 

Bobby woke with cold feet and while he instinctively reached over for Crowley he wasn’t surprised to find the other side of the bed empty. He considered rolling over and going back to bed, as he sometimes did. Crowley had promised to talk to him if he needed to and Bobby was willing to trust Crowley to know what was best for himself; even if it sometimes letting him work through things on his own.

Despite this he left the warmth of the bed, pulling on his ratty dressing gown and padding downstairs in search of Crowley.

He had gotten used to having someone in the bed next to him and now the bed felt empty without Crowley there. Besides, it was a cold night and he wanted the warmth Cleo would provide back, which wouldn’t happen until Crowley returned.

Crowley, unsurprisingly was in the library, reading a book resting on the arm of the chair, lap occupied by as much of Cleo’s front end as she had been able to fit.

“Nightmares?” Bobby asked, swatting at Cleo’s rear. 

She was a massive animal, and Bobby had no doubt she could rip him limp from limp if she had the mind to, but Crowley had her well trained enough that Bobby knew she would never even snarl at him unless in play. Beside, while there was no doubt that Crowley was her favourite, she was almost pathetically sappy with both her owners.

Bobby could only pity anyone who ever made an attempt to break in.

She looked at him mournfully before jumping down from the couch, giving her spot up to Bobby. She waited until he had settled before collapsing at their feet, huffing contentedly as Bobby scratched her neck with his foot.

“Nothing so dramatic, Darling,” Crowley said, barely glancing up from his book. “Just some trouble sleeping.” 

Bobby grunted sympathetically; that was something he could relate to.

He put his arm around Crowley who adjusted himself so he was leaning against Bobby’s chest without even pausing in his reading.

While they had had passed through the semi-awkward stage of a new relationship were boundaries were still being set and discovered their relationship was still new enough that ever casual touch was a novelty. Bobby couldn’t remember being this comfortable with someone since Karen. 

“You are like a teenager with their first boyfriend; honestly it’s a little pathetic.” Crowley said, affection colouring his voice.

“Sometimes I think you are lying about not having demonic powers anymore. You seem to have far too much knowledge about what I’m thinking,” Bobby grumbled.

Crowley’s lip curled upwards.

“Robert, you aren’t nearly as subtle as you think; you are practically radiating.”

Bobby didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead he reached over, and mentally noting Crowley’s page number, just in case he decided to complain, and closed the book Crowley

Crowley gave him a challenging look, one that implied he knew exactly what Bobby’s intentions were. 

They kissed in way that suggested practise, not in general but with each other, knowing exactly what the other person liked. They fit together with no awkward bumping of noses or fumbling hands. Crowley tugged at Bobby’s lower lip with his teeth before releasing it to allow Bobby’s tongue to swipe at his lips.

Bobby wasn’t sure he would ever get tired of kissing Crowley

Bobby held the back of Crowley’s neck firmly, not preventing him from pulling away but with enough force to show that he would really rather he didn’t. His other hand rested at an indecent height on Crowley’s thigh but from Crowley’s own wondering hands there was little doubt that Crowley was happy with it there.

They pulled apart too soon in Bobby’s opinion, lips slightly glossy and both looking a little flushed.

Cleo was snoring gently at their feet, legs twitching as she dreamed and Bobby felt terribly domestic in a way he hadn’t imagined he could be in a long time. He didn’t tell Crowley how grateful he was that things had turned out the way they had between them or how deeply he had come to care for him. He was certain Crowley knew anyway. He, after all was certain that Crowley felt the same.

Bobby yawned, breaking the moment and Crowley sniggered softly.

“You should get some rest, Robert,” Crowley said, sitting up properly, removing his weight from Bobby.

“Then let’s go back to bed.” Bobby said, standing up, offering a hand to Crowley and using it to pull the man to his feet, careful to be quiet so as not to wake Cleo.

They stood close for a moment, still clasping hands, standing close enough to each other that Bobby could smell the shampoo that Crowley had used that evening. There was no reason to associate it with Crowley it was the same type he used and he grabbed whatever was cheapest whenever he went shopping. He inhaled the scent anyway, smiling slightly.

Crowley was right, it was a little pathetic. He caressed the back of Crowley’s hand with his thumb and Crowley wetted his lips with his tongue and he lowered his eyes to stare none to subtlety at Bobby’s lips. However, until Crowley stopped enjoying it he had no intention of toning down his affection. 

“And,” Bobby ventured, “If you still can’t sleep I’m sure we can find something to pass the time.”

Crowley smiled, open and genuine, and looked up from Bobby’s lips to meet his gaze.

“I think I’d like that.”


End file.
